


Thieves in the Shadows

by KIRA_user_of_Death_Notes



Series: Zamorak's Heist [1]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Coercion, Fanservice, Gen, Mahjarrat, Manipulation, darker and edgier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIRA_user_of_Death_Notes/pseuds/KIRA_user_of_Death_Notes
Summary: Zamorak was always a fighter; he never accepted defeat.In the Sixth Age, history repeats itself. After losing the Battle of Lumbridge and recovering from the injuries he took, Zamorak formulates a plan to take the Stone of Jas so he may use it to regain his powers. Everything is ready, except for one problem—how will he convince a Zarosian World Guardian to help the god he hates the most?





	Thieves in the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> The following story takes place after [Dawn of the Sixth Age](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6295795) and my previous Runescape series, [Mysteries of the Heart,](http://archiveofourown.org/series/431506) before and during [Dishonour Among Thieves.](http://runescape.wikia.com/wiki/Dishonour_among_Thieves)
> 
> As usual, [gameplay and storyline segregation,](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GameplayAndStorySegregation) applies. Anything that doesn't work in a literary medium though it works in a game (i.e. respawning, eating whole sharks in second to heal mortal wounds etc.) will be changed or ignored, depending on the situation.

_Portmaster,  
_

_Our mission was a success. We arrived at Ponsan, the port town of Dhar Pei’s Vantage in the afternoon, which I must say, was later than I'd expected, but we got started right away. I knew about the reward of five hundred pounds of terracotta for anyone that could put an end to the recent phenomena of the children falling sick after glowing green orbs were seen leaving their bodies at night, but the locals explained the situation anyways, shortly after my crew of seafort guards and I settled into an inn. Over riceballs and Eastern saké, they told us of how it all began._

_You see Portmaster, Ponsan was a rather well-off town, with a thriving trade and fishing industry and that was rather obvious from the beautifully detailed oriental buildings, all of which had sloping roofs that curved upwards, the fine silk robes the Easterners wore, and the many luxury goods sold at the market we passed on our way to the inn. Despite all this, the Easterners believe the decline of their town started a month ago when it was discovered that a shrine maiden who took a vow of chastity to dedicate her life to taking care of the temple of some Eastern god had bore a bastard. She had managed to escape the town lynch mob, but she was forced to leave her son behind. The babe was killed, for he was born of lust and a broken oath, and his body was left to rot as an example to the other shrine maidens. Shortly afterwards, the bastard’s bones disappeared and their trouble with green orbs and ill children began._

_One of them told me he’d seen everything with his own eyes. I will try my best to transcribe his exact words: “there was a night when I couldn’t sleep, I went to my son’s room to check on him when I spotted those damned orbs. They left me aghast for a moment before I followed them to see where they came from...they came from the hills on the outskirts of town. There I saw what became of…_ her _…I’ll never forget the eye I locked eyes with the witch as she held her dead child. Not long after that, my son died.”_

 _Another one added an interesting observation, it was something along the lines of: “she only comes around at night. Nothing is out of the ordinary during the day, but at night the orbs come, and in the morning the children are so weak they are bedridden…until they waste away. Now I think it’s easier to count the number of children who have_ not _been infected on one hand.”_

 _I was silent for a bit as I pondered and processed this. I looked out the window and saw it was dark out—another night of Ponsan children being drained, while the despondent locals could do nothing but watch. The sooner we get this done the better, they wanted the witch dead and I wanted the reward. We marched out to the hills that surrounded the town, and sure enough she was there, holding her spawn which was absorbing the orbs. I remembered the Eastern man’s words about never forgetting the moment he looked into her eyes, and I know I too, will never forget the sight of her undead bastard...oh that bald dead, deathly pale skin...those purely black eyes..._  
  
My seafort guards immediately sprung into action; some of them fired spells, others threw eastern kunai knives and shuriken throwing stars at her. Their efforts failed, the witch was able to deflect our weapons back to us, even when her attention was on the orbs. _She was a strong fighter, I will admit that. She used spells that made blades of grass shoot up in the air, heading straight for us; one of them proved to be just as sharp as a metal blade when it gave me a cut on the cheek as it flew by. She made large, sharp rocks from several feet below ground shoot up too, and she revived the skeletons of those—people and animals alike, who died on that spot to fight for her, as if they were her own familiars. Most of my crew fought back, however, one guard on my orders sent an entangle spell her way. The moment it hit and paralysed her, I closed my eyes, and I when I opened them half a second later, my irises were no longer blue-green with round black pupils; now they were gold, with black fractal pentagrams in lieu of pupils. I looked her in the eye, and I visualized the insides of her eyes rotting away, the decay spreading until it reached her brain, and that was precisely how she died. Her bastard immediately fell out of her hands. Nothing happened to him, he'd already died, therefore my occultic eyes did not work for him; it only killed the living, not those who still walked after death. I killed him the old fashioned way—I walked to him, unsheathed my katana Crimson Dream and sliced him into two._

_My crew killed the remaining skeletons, and to make a long story short, we left with our reward soon afterwards, though we did have to stay for five more days to make sure the witch was truly gone; no one wanted to take any chances, just in case she’d faked her death. She was really dead, and the locals were very grateful for what we’d done. Before we sailed back to the West, the khan himself, Khan Haru even said we’d always be welcome there. We are in his good graces, Portmaster. If you ask me, we should trade here more often, with the khan’s favour, I know we will get the best trade deals._

_PS—I hope you make good use of the terracotta._

_-Captain Percy Bligh_

_  
I will,_ Bryce thought, as he put the piece of parchment into the drawers of his gilded mahogany desk, on top of the many mission reports he’d received since the day he bought half of the port from John Strum. He then grabbed a thick black book on his desk, and just as he began to flip through its papyrus pages, he heard soft, approaching footsteps that got louder and louder with each second before they stopped entirely.

He looked up and saw a scantily clad, turquoise-skinned seasinger in his office. Her revealing dress—two white seashells holding up her ample breasts like a brassier and an olive green skirt with slits on both sides revealing her long legs—pumped him with lust as she stood over the blue-green carpet and surveyed him with her light grey eyes.

“Portmaster.”

Her sultry voice seemed to hypnotize him; his own purple eyes grew dull, he forgot what he was doing and thought about nothing but of his hands around her petite waist as he explored her mouth with his tongue.

“The Golden Nightmare has just returned from the Keening Reef,” she said.

He blinked several times before he opened his mouth to reply. “I…I see…thank you for telling me of this, Umi. I will be there…first I need to update my inventory records.”

Seasinger Umi nodded and left and the World Guardian went back to turning the papyrus pages, skimming through his earlier entries as he did so. He only stopped when he arrived halfway through the book, where the latest one stood, and he quickly made a short note of the five hundred pounds of terracotta the SS Chaos Dragon brought in from Dhar Pei, before he too stepped out of the refurbished office and on to the sunlit stone ground of the Isolated Haven Island port, which was busy as usual. A young brunette was polishing the jade statue of a serpentine Eastern dragon that stood between his office and the opulent White Raven bar, where Surula was certainly hard at work, serving drinks to Captain Bligh and the many other adventurers who’d stopped at the port. A few yards from that, construction workers standing on wooden scaffolds were hammering away at the white stone walls of the imperial warehouse, so a fancier, dynastic one could be built in its place. A blond youth was watering the blossoming cherry tree he’d planted between the warehouse and the shipwright’s office, where the ship builder was sure to be, designing sleeker and faster bows, and across from it, at the opposite end of the port, maids entered and exited the luxurious lodgings carrying bedsheets, quilts and pillows.

He was greeted with many hellos and good mornings as he made his way to the pier. By the time he got there, the Chaos Dragon’s gangplank had already been lowered, and the captain and crew were stepping off the ship. That was when he noticed the bleeding cuts on the arms of their captain, Rachel Hook, and the cuts exposed by the ripped trousers of the blue-haired pearl divers.

Bryce watched them all pass by him, before the final member of the crew crossed the gangplank. She was an Easterner with auburn hair that shone red in the sun, and she would often be seen wearing a funny-looking yellow and black domed oriental hat and a long sleeved blue and yellow dress.

But now, the hat was absent, the top of the dress was replaced by form fitting bandages wrapped around her slim stomach and busty chest, and the bottom half had a huge ripped slit, showing him her long but bruised legs.

Surprised with such a sight, he immediately called out to her. “Zu Zu! What happened? I thought you said that voyage would be easy!”

The occultist sighed. “Discord! It was all his doing! He sabotaged us! He followed me on his white narwhal, and he kept sending huge waves at our ship. That alone could’ve sunk us, but he kept ramming that fucking narwhal into us!”

She took a moment to scoff at the unpleasant memory before she went on. “As if bailing out all that water wasn’t hard enough! After he got bored of that, he started attacking us with magic! The captain and I barely managed to fend off those…those _things_ he summoned; those fish with legs—

“Hang on,” Bryce interrupted, feeling locked out of the loop. “Discord? Fish with legs?”

“Discord, the official bodyguard of Quin,” Zu Zu explained.

“The seasinger!”

“Yes, the seasinger,” Zu Zu agreed. “The most powerful the Eastern Lands has ever seen. She must’ve sent Discord after me. I’m not surprised; she’s been after me after I discovered the secret to immortality. I know how badly she’s wanted the secret ever since the day she was almost killed by an assassin.”

For a few seconds, neither of them said a thing; both walked in silence on the way back to the office.

“How did you get away from Discord this time?” Bryce asked, and Zu Zu told him the story of how she and Captain Rachel barely managed to fend off the foul smelling, undead fish with hairy spider-like legs Discord had summoned while the rest of the crew made sure the ship could stay afloat.

“I’m sorry, Portmaster,” Zu Zu apologised the moment she was done. “I didn’t get the body. I failed you…I shouldn’t have. This _was_ supposed to be an easy mission, yet...Discord got the better of us. I promise you, it won’t happen next time! I’ll get that body…no matter _what_ it takes. In the meantime…please excuse me. I need to rest, but…after that…I think I’ll have a nice, hot bath.”

She then gave him a coy smile. “Perhaps you join me, darling…”

Bryce returned the smile. “I might.”

He imagined them both in a tub, her glistening wet body on top of his, moaning while he made love to her. 

 _I most certainly will,_ he thought as he watched her head for the port lodgings, her slender hips swinging back and forth as she walked.  

When he got back to his office, the first thing he saw was a vulture with a head of white down feathers and a body covered in black and white speckled feathers on his desk, screeching like a raptor, as if its presence alone wasn’t enough to draw his attention. Even without it, Bryce would’ve noticed the papyrus note next to its talons. He retrieved it, and the vulture flew off seconds later.

Sitting down, he turned the envelope back and saw the wax seal bearing the symbol of Zaros. Bryce felt a shred of annoyance rising inside him.

_Why is it being used out in the open? Don’t they know how dangerous, not to mention stupid that is? How can they be so careless?_

He ripped it open, and quickly read through the hastily-written, spiked but unfamiliar handwriting.

_Bryce,_

_I hope this letter has reached you within the shortest time possible. I’m sure you remember the day Sliske invited you to the Empyrean Citadel to witness his so called “ascension.” I remember it all too well. I was not able to attend the council, as he had kept all of his own brethren out with his barrow wights, though I do consider myself fortunate that I was able to hear everything from you._

_I must ask you to return to the Citadel, there is an urgent matter I must discuss with you, and I don’t dare say it in a letter, for fear of it being intercepted. Please report there as soon as you can but remember, the Empyrean Citadel belongs to Armadyl. That naïve, pacifistic chicken dreams of peace, and he insists on keeping it “free of the weapons of war.” I expect you to respect his wishes, World Guardian—do_ not _bring any weapons here._

_-Yours sincerely,_

_Azzanadra_

_No weapons?_ Bryce thought. _What an odd request, but then again…Entrana doesn’t permit weapons to be brought there either. I suppose all gods want anyplace sacred to them to be a place of peace, except perhaps Bandos…or Zamorak…_

His thoughts wandered away to the part of the letter mentioning the urgent matter Azzanadra didn’t dare discuss in writing.

_He must’ve found something important…concerning the Elder Halls. Could it mean he’s really discovered the exact location of them here? But…that can’t be it…wouldn’t he tell Zaros first?_

_Maybe he already did before writing to me …but then wouldn’t Zaros himself alert me of such important news?...Maybe he didn’t discover the Elder Halls, maybe he only discovered more information_ about _them...maybe he figured out their connection to the mouthpieces of the Elder gods; maybe he found out what the mouthpiece in Lumbridge was for…_

Bryce let out a very soft sigh; he knew he’d get nowhere if he kept on guessing. He folded the note in half several times, until it was small enough to fit in his pocket, and he strolled out of his office.

* * *

 “Azzanadra?”

After teleporting to the Empyrean Citadel with the Sliskean invitation box he’d retrieved from the bank, Bryce glanced around to see that the room he landed in hadn’t changed since the last time he came here to watch the grand “ascension.” He was even standing in the same spot on the stone floor he’d stood over then—at the centre of a red pentagon with curvy brown borders, positioned in the middle of the room. Across from him was a hallway that was just as empty as this room, and he made his way through that, calling for Azzanadra.

He received an “in here,” which prompted him to run down the hall as fast as he could to see his Mahjarrat friend, who was in a room more spacious than the one he’d came from, though it was almost the same. It was just as empty, with the same red pentagon floor pattern, only there was a grey limestone statue of Death placed at the midway point of the red pentagon. Standing beside the statue was the champion of Zaros, twice as tall as Bryce in his true Mahjarrat form and dressed in a floor-length robe made from black velvet with black sleeves, a red belt, collar and shoulder pads. A black hood covered half of his head, and a red circlet with two long points sticking out, like the prongs of a bident was atop that.

“Azzanadra!”

His friend turned around, and gave him a small smile. “Hello, Bryce.”

Bryce smiled back and ran to him, for he’d only seen Azzanadra once—at the rune essence mines, months after the day Zaros returned and ordered him to find the Elder Halls. Ever since then, Azzanadra had not contacted him; he hadn’t sent him any letters to tell him how the investigation was going, nor did he stop by the underground Senntisten temple he used to guard. The latter, Bryce could understand, but the former frustrated him quite a bit, he hated being left in the dark about a matter so important, and despite harbouring great respect and affection for one of his closest friends, he had to admit, he didn’t like the fact he was hardly ever told of how the mission was coming along.

 _And finally, after all this time...I’ll_ finally _get something out of you,_ Bryce thought. _If luck permits it, you could give away a lot._

“What did you want to say, Azzanadra?” he asked. “It’s about the Elder Halls, isn’t it?”

Azzanadra did not answer. His next move came so fast, all Bryce saw was a blur of motion before he was lifted into the air, with Azzanadra’s fingers curled around at his neck.     

Bryce gasped for breath, but that only made Azzanadra tighten his grip, and the World Guardian cried out with pain, feeling as if it was being crushed.

“W-W-Why?” he chocked out. His own hands flew up, and he tried his hardest to pry Azzanadra’s fingers away from his throat. _What is this?_

“Because…” Azzanadra said. “Lord Zamorak desires it.”

“Z-Zamorak?!” Bryce sputtered. “Why? You’re…You’re loyal…to Zaros! How…how can you do this! How can you betray him, you—

“Enough,” Azzanadra cut in, and he tightened his grip again, this time so much that Bryce found talking to be unbearable. Screams filled the citadel, before Bryce felt his strength fading and his vision darkening.

Less than a minute later, silence fell upon the floating castle in the sky, and Azzanadra let go. Bryce’s body hit the cold floors with a thud.

Azzanadra’s face then changed; suddenly he seemed to grow older, the white stripe down his eyes became grey, and bags developed under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept for an eternity; a diagonal scar appeared on his right cheek, along with nasalabial folds under his nose, a tear shaped red ruby popped up on his chin and what seemed like two inverted, curved ivory horns grew under it, like a short Mahjarrat beard.

He bent down, picked the World Guardian up, and carried him over his own, broad shoulder.

_Lord Zamorak desires you._

* * *

Discomfort—soreness in his legs— was the first thing he could feel. The second was something cold and heavy around his waist and wrists; he couldn’t shake them off his waist and he tried to move his wrists, but both seemed to be stuck behind his back.

Upon opening his eyes he understood why that was so. There were steel chains around his abdomen, they were do doubt the same chains that bound his wrists behind his back, and the feeling in his legs could easily be explained by the fact he was kneeling against a large black tile encircled by black square tiles. Between the cracks off each tile oozed a red liquid, which he assumed to be blood.

_What the fuck? What’s all this? Why am I tied up?_

And then the images of what had happened at the Empyrean Citadel flashed through his mind, making him explode on the inside with rage. He wished he could do to Azzanadra just a little more than what his former friend had done to him, he wished he could strike him at the neck with his godsword.

_If I ever get my hands on you…I’ll do more than just kill you, you bloody traitor! Your end will—_

“You’re awake,” a demonic but familiar voice said. “It’s about time.”

 Bryce froze.

_That voice!...It can’t be!_

He lifted his neck up, and gasped when he saw who it belonged to.

It was the voice of a god he’d wanted to see dead for the longest time, a god sitting on an onyx black throne, a god who hadn’t changed much since the last time he saw him aside from the fact he was no longer a giant. He was richly dressed the same as he was when he attended Sliske’s “ascension,” in blood red robes altered to reveal his red scaly wings, though Bryce thought neither the solid gold shoulder pads, gold trimming against the plunging V-shaped neckline, nor the gold wristbands, all of which were studded with rubies, provided an effective distraction from the god’s ugly grey face, red eyes, and light red horns protruding from both sides of his face like tumours.

“Zamorak!”

But the god of chaos wasn’t alone. Standing by his left was a taupe-skinned brunette in a sleeveless form fitting pink dress with gold accents and matching pink open-toe boots which had thin, high heels, reminding him of the shoes Ariane wore. Like a Mahjarrat, she had a red gem in her forehead, but unlike them, her eyes had no pupils or irises, they were just pure sclera that glowed magenta.

 _Moia,_ Bryce thought. _She led his armies in Lumbridge, and she teleported him away when it was clear he’d lose to Saradomin. If it hadn’t been for her stupid meddling, you’d already be dead, Zamorak._

He did not recognise the man on the right, whose choice of wear—a dull grey, short sleeved tunic, belted at the waist over grey trousers— seemed out next to the fine clothes Zamorak and Moia wore. With his grey skin, red eyes, and red gem shaped like a diamond in his forehead, he was certainly a Mahjarrat, but Bryce hadn’t seen him in the Ritual of Rejuvenation, which every Mahjarrat had to have attended. He was also older than any Mahjarrat Bryce had ever seen, and until now he didn’t even know rejuvenated Mahjarrat could show any signs of aging like a man.

Zamorak held out both of his arms in a grand gesture, as if he was offering Bryce the world. “Welcome to Daemonheim, World Guardian. So remote and inaccessible is this place—beneath floor after floor of impassable horrors, that we are safe to recover undisturbed from recent struggles lost.”

 _D_ _aemonheim?_ Bryce repeated in his mind.

The name was familiar to him, for he had been here a few times before, exploring its icy underground floors and clearing it of monsters, but he hadn’t delved very deep into it, and he had no idea what dwelled beneath the frozen floors.

_Is this it? Is this what lies on the final floor?_

He glanced around and saw he was in the middle of a nearly empty cross shaped room, dimly lit with obsidian black braziers and so huge it was obvious it was not built by or for the likes of men. On the far ends of the left and right end were large, black double doors that glowed red in the light, like the parts of the black stone wall closer to the fire; both doors had the skull of a horned, draconic creature carved in the middle, but the doors in the right wing had glowing hot furnaces in the corners.

Slow, deep breathing brought his attention back to the throne in front of him, the duo of Mahjarrats beside it and the god sitting on it. An enormous head in what reminded him of a Kinshra knight’s helm, poked out from behind the throne, examining the World Guardian with what he assumed to be eyes, though all he could see through the black helm’s visor were glows of yellow.

_His siege beast! I thought it died in battle! I thought Padomenes and the Saradominist Colossal killed him!_

Zamorak ignored the beast and continued. “I see you admiring my hideout. We have Bilrach to thank for its sanctuary. He has earned his place as my right hand.”

Bryce’s eyes widened. _Bilrach?...But…_ how? _He’s dead! What was that strange power emanating from Daemonheim, then?_

The old Mahjarrat smiled. “The certainty of your return fuelled my digging for millennia, my lord.”

Zamorak turned his gaze to Moia. “And I believe you have already made acquaintances with my left hand, Moia. For quite some time now she has been reassembling my legions.”

 “You gave me purpose, my lord” Moia said proudly, before her tone became harsher. “I will strike where you wish as if I were the hand of your own arm.”

Zamorak nodded in approval. “Keep looking around, World Guardian, most people would; few in living memory have had the honour of touching such hallowed ground.”

Bryce opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t dare to talk back against a god. The last time he’d done that was with Saradomin when he and Sir Owen retrieved the Wand of Ressurection, and he ended up being blasted with divine magic. That had knocked him so far back against the wall and so hard, he coughed up blood. He would’ve died that day had it not been for Guthix’s blessing, and after that, he was determined to never be on the receiving end of such a thing again; he stopped voicing his disagreements with gods out loud.

 _But here I am…trapped in Daemonheim with the most evil god of all,_ he thought bitterly. _I don’t know what he wants with me,_ _but …it definitely won’t be pretty…after all, Zamorak is Zamorak… I doubt that being better behaved would make him change his mind and let me go._

He opened his mouth again. “Honour? This is how you honour me? By tying me in chains and forcing me to kneel before a tyrant?”

“You’d happily get on your knees for Zaros,” Zamorak pointed out.

Bryce gave the god the most deadly glare he could muster. “You speak lies, he is no tyrant.”

Zamorak smiled in amusement. “So you say…but you will not be holding that sentiment after this. I can promise you that.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Bryce’s face. _After this?_

“What do you mean? What are you going to do to me?”

Zamorak didn’t respond. Instead, he focused his ruby red eyes on his generals. “The hour approaches, we must ready ourselves. It is time you gather the core of my followers—Zemouregal, Enakhra, Hazeel, Khazard, Daquarius, Jerrod and Nomad. Find them, for it is time we take back what was stolen; it is time I reclaim the Stone of Jas.”

“I will at once, my lord!” Moia said. And then spirals of pale pink and blue appeared around her and Bilrach, their bodies were boosted into the air and they grew more and more transparent like ghosts as they teleported themselves away.

Bryce stared at Zamorak. “You’re going to steal the Stone of Jas? Have you gone mad?”

Zamorak scowled at him. Sensing his master’s annoyance, his siege growled but he did not move towards the World Guardian. Zamorak got up, and teleported in front of him in a flash of black, gold and red.

Without another word, he kicked Bryce in the chest.

 “Aaargh!”

Bryce coughed up blood, and tumbled back. As he lay floor, feeling dazed and in pain, Zamorak spoke, sounding colder than he had moments ago. “You would do well to choose your words more carefully. The Stone of Jas was stolen from me, and I plan to retake it.”

He sat down beside him, and he stared into Bryce’s eyes, which reminded him of Zaros’ eyes despite being a few shades lighter.

“And you will help me.”

**Author's Note:**

> The first part in the Eastern Lands is meant to show you what the world beyond the west's like, it was meant to be a longer and more detailed account of Dhar Pei, with extra information about the Eastern culture, like how they liked to dye their hair funny colours like pink, blue, purple, green, etc. (*cough* anime reference *cough*) and how their shrine maidens dressed in long sleeved blouses and ankle length red skirts (*cough* [Kikyo](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/inuyasha/images/e/e7/Kikyo055.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110831014906) and [anime miko](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Miko) reference *cough*), but I had to cut that short when I noticed the side plot was taking the focus away from the main plot.
> 
> Yes, I actually have a Player Owned Ports captain named Percy Bligh.
> 
> Ponsan is a name I made up, by stringing together letters and sounds that seemed vaguely Asian (as the Eastern lands is based on East Asia), and Haru (the name of the Khan of Dhar Pei) is a generic Asian name I picked.
> 
> I also made up an island, Isolated Haven Island to house the port. In-game, a portal in Port Sarim led you to it, but there's no indication of where it actually is, so to answer the question of where it's actually located, I made up an island that's even further east than Dragontooth Island.
> 
> The vulture in his office is meant to be a Rüppell's vulture, which is the world's highest flying bird with a cruising altitude of 37k feet above sea level, I thought only a high flying bird can reach Armadyl's citadel, so I picked that one, and I did listen to vulture sounds as I wrote this, they really do sounds like velociraptors.
> 
> As you all know, Mahjarrat are shapeshifters, they have have human forms (like Azzanadra) and it's a fact they can impersonate humans, yes I know they've never impersonated each other, but there's nothing to suggest they can't.
> 
> Oh, and I think I managed to do the impossible, I described Azzanadra in his true form, without saying "bunny ears."
> 
> As for why Bryce's tied up, well...he hates Zamorak and Zamorakians in general (he's a Zarosian who was raised to be Saradominist, he's been accepting the "Zamorak is evil" doctrine since he was young, it'll be very hard to shake that off), he's not going to come to Daemonheim if Zamorak asks nicely. In-game, you do go there willingly (so you can complete the quest to get the rewards), but with gameplay and storyline segregation, you'd need a little more to persuade him (besides, I always thought it was odd that you gave in so easily, I always thought some kind of coercion was involved).


End file.
